


Before I Go

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, dark themes, terminal illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: !WARNING: THIS DEALS WITH THEMES OF SUICIDE & TERMINAL ILLNESS!No Actual Character DeathIt also has one of my favorite analogies I've ever written.





	

It's only when one is dying that one realizes how much one wants to live. That's the sort of thing that is bandied about in philosophy and psychology classes and no one takes seriously, or at least, no one takes seriously until one is actually faced with dying as a real thing and not the monster perpetually under the bed. John Noble realized the truth of that statement.

Six months they said. Maybe a year? If you're lucky. Lucky. Because luck is precisely the sort of thing that should be associated with a twenty-five year old with a death sentence. The disease was killing him from the inside and it was just a matter of time until it completed its destructive course through his body, brutally snatching away every hope and wish he had for the future. Future was a dirty word and it had no place in his vocabulary. Like luck. And hope. Words that lurked on the edges of his hospital room, taunting him with their possibilities and waking him up screaming at two am. He had banned the Doctors and nurses and his sister and every other god-forsaken person who came in contact with him from using any of them.

Everyone had a timer. Everyone died. It was the most inevitable fact of existence. Falling in love, going on adventures, living, breathing: they were extraneous items, the above and beyond terms of life. But from the first screaming breath of an infant, everyone dies. But there was a difference between acknowledging that the timer was ticking on one's life and understanding that it was within the last thirty minutes. When he was young and naive, John used to play with the timer on his mum's stove. Winding it up, watching it tick down, and then getting impatient for the last five minutes and turning it quickly so that it dinged before it was ready. 

Sitting up there, feet dangling forty-five stories above a cement slab, John considered his options. Living was becoming less of an option with each passing day and unsuccessful treatment. He'd told the Doctors just today he was done. Done with being their guinea pig. Done with watching his sister drain their inheritance for a futile dream. Done with hearing the "I'm sorry but..." that followed every invasive procedure. He hadn't mentioned that bit to Donna just yet. Time enough for that. Or perhaps not time. Because there was another option. 

It was the option that appealed to him the most. To face dying on his own terms. To impatiently turn the timer until it dinged. Not to die at an arbitrary time dealt out by Fate and Death playing the oldest game, but when and where and how he wanted. Well, perhaps not as he wanted. What he wanted wasn't something that had meant a whole lot in a very long time. But at least he could choose the date and the manner. Donna would understand; her and Fate were old enemies.

John stared down at the ground far, far below and considered. This wasn't a bad option. What was the use of putting it off? Of waiting until he had hoarded a handful of pills? He could be dead by then anyway and all of it would be for nothing. No. Better to do it this way. It would be a rush of flying and then it would be over. He'd make sure of it. And today was as good a day as any. There was a hint of regret that he hadn't remembered to write out a letter to Donna, some note of apology, explanation, words of...something. But if he went back in now, they wouldn't let him back out. The fact that he'd gone this long without notice was nothing short of a miracle, which was a sign in and of itself.

He edged forward, resting his body weight back on his arms and letting his legs swing free. There was a hesitation in his limbs, an unwillingness to let go completely. It was a weakness and he hated it, but it was enough to give him pause. A pause that extended on for longer than he was ready to acknowledge. He inched forward again and was interrupted by the bang of the door opening behind her. His body jerked backwards, towards safety, falling sideways off the ledge and onto the support of the rooftop.

Twisting his body around, John glared at the intruder who dared to impede his commune with Death. The trespasser was female, skinny, thin blonde hair, wrapped in a too big jacket...all the signs of someone on his ward. She stopped short when she spotted him, meeting his stare with every bit of defiance he felt.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked, crossing her arms which was probably supposed to make her look imposing, but only served to reinforce the weight loss from her treatments.

"Could ask you the same thing," John responded, turning so his back was leaning against the pillar.

She came forward and dropped down at his feet, her legs hanging off the edge of the building. "Came to get some fresh air."

John snorted inelegantly. She scowled at him briefly before returning her gaze to the city spread off into the distance. 

"Fine. What do you think I was doing?" she demanded after a moment.

He tilted her head to the side, regarding her. Her eyes were dark and fathomless, her fingers drumming impatiently against the brick. "Looks to me like you were gonna jump."

"Jump?!" Her gaze shot to his, one eyebrow raised.

He looked away, embarrassed. Perhaps he had read this all wrong. He studied the pavement below enviously. If she had but waited three more minutes. "Guess not, then," he muttered.

"Suppose I could," she said like she was just now thinking about it. "Don't see why I would though."

"Cause you're sick," John blurted.

"So're you. You gonna jump?" Her gaze was fixed on the side of his face and he didn't like it.

"Might do, yeah." He crossed and uncrossed his arms restlessly.

"What for?" she demanded.

"So I can do this my way, die when and where I want instead of sitting around and waiting to die. Choosing my own terms is the best fuck you to all of this I can imagine." He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around his legs and willing her to understand.

"Guess that is one way to stick it to Fate." Her words ended on a comma, but she didn't continue.

He dropped his head backwards against the brick pillar. "You gonna tell me what the other way is?"

"Do you really want to know?" She tilted her head, studying him the way he used to study organisms on his microscope's slides.

"Asked, didn't I?" John wasn't used to the give and take of a conversation anymore, even Donna was tip-toeing around him these days.

The girl leaned backwards, propping her weight on her arms in a caricature of the way he had been sitting when she'd interrupted him. She stared up at the night sky and seemed to draw inspiration from whatever she saw in the smog.

"I get what you mean about sitting around and waiting to die. Pretty morbid. But you know what the best fuck you to all of this is? To choose to live. To get out and do something. If you jump now, if I jump now, that's just saying that we give up, we give in, that the disease won. And I'm not okay with that. And I don't think you really are either. Not deep down." She sat up, eyes flashing fire. "But we could be living. There's no guarantees when we're going to die. Not really. Six months, a year? Do you know how much living you can do in that amount of time?" 

"Never really thought about it," he admitted.

"A lot. In six months you could tour Europe. You could go backpacking in the Himalayas. You could go deep sea diving. You could pet dolphins. You could fall in love. And in a year? Oh, how much more could you do in a year?" She turned to him with more light in her eyes than he had ever seen shining out of another human's, let alone someone on his ward.

"You doing any of that?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. The light went out of her eyes and she sunk backwards. 

"No," she confessed quietly. 

"I'm sorry." He reached out his hand towards her, intending for it to end in a pat on her shoulder, but she met his hand with hers and intertwined their fingers. He was surprised by how right it felt.

She looked at him, meeting his gaze sadly. "You're right though. I'm just a hypocrite preaching at you."

"I think it's a good idea. Adventure and all that. Don't know how you'd manage it on your own though," he said, even as his blood started to sing in his veins screaming out ideas, possibilities, schemes.

"Well, I couldn't do it on my own," she paused, a gleam growing in her eye. "Better with two?"

"Definitely better with two." He used his free hand to leverage himself upwards and then tugged on her hand, pulling her to her feet. "I have a, I have a car. It's not much, but..."

"It's perfect," she cut him off.

"I'm John, by the way. What's your name?" He stared at the creature beside him who was so much stronger than she looked, wondering what the odd emotion in his chest was.

"Rose Tyler," she grinned at him, a tongue-touched smile.

"Well, Rose Tyler," he tested the syllables on his tongue, "Run!"

And as they burst through the door and down the stairs to his battered blue car, he realized he knew what the emotion was. It was hope.


End file.
